


maybe freud was onto something (the oral fixation fic)

by cockwhoredan



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time Blow Jobs, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 17:34:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13885728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cockwhoredan/pseuds/cockwhoredan
Summary: dan's just trying to live his truth





	maybe freud was onto something (the oral fixation fic)

**Author's Note:**

> you could probably call this a crackfic but honestly, dan just loves sucking dick and that's all there is to it. thank you and goodnight.  
> [disclaimer: i’m not saying you’re gonna be all that great when u suck a dick from the first time. i am saying, however, that dan has sucked a lot of popsicles, doesn’t have much of a gag reflex, and that phil’s standards are quite low. also, i’m very aware this wasn’t the whole point of dan’s video but as i’m a porn blog, the bj is what i focused on.]

Admittedly, Dan doesn’t remember a lot from Psychology class. 

His first — and only — year at University was a bit of a clusterfuck, and Dan isn’t sure if the information would’ve stuck even if he’d, like, actually _attended_ the lectures. He can, however, recall a distinct moment during one of the few lectures he’d showed up for. 

The professor had been droning on and on, a blur of monotonous phrases slipping right through the sieve of Dan’s short-term memory as Dan tried (and failed) to write anything that resembled _notes_. It’d been boring. So fucking boring that he’d almost drifted off when a series of words suddenly caught his attention: 

_ Oral Fixation.  _

Now, Dan isn’t saying that Sigmund Freud is a psychological genius — he’s always wondered where that guy’s obsession with incestuous relationships stemmed from, anyways. He’s just saying that as he went to jot down the definition of _oral fixation_ , he was quickly met with the reality that his pen cap had been in his mouth the entire time. That all his pen caps, actually, had teeth marks in them, and he’d been that one kid in primary school that nobody borrowed a pencil from because the ends of every single one of them had been chewed to shit. 

He’d passed it off as a coincidence, then. Chose to ignore it, because, alright, he already had enough mental shit going wrong with him and he didn’t need to start worrying about Freudian psychoanalysis and what that meant about his childhood. 

So for a while, Dan was more careful about what he did with his writing utensils when he wasn’t writing, and _maybe_ he found it a little unsatisfying not to have anything to do with his mouth during lectures, but looking weird wasn’t on his agenda. 

And then he’d moved in with Phil. 

At first, that weird, nervous energy remained settled somewhere deep in Dan’s chest, an anxiety regarding judgment that he’d held since he was young. Yeah, he’d known Phil for a decent amount of time, now, and Phil clearly liked him enough to ask Dan to be his flatmate, but Phil was still _AmazingPhil_. He remained an enigma, a series of questions in the back of Dan’s mind of how he got so lucky, if Phil was going to suddenly change his mind, if he’d realize that Dan was simply a creepy internet fan who’d somehow wormed his way into Phil’s life.

Needless to say, Dan was mildly self-conscious during their first couple of years sharing a flat. Living with someone was different than hanging out with them, and Dan was painfully aware that he acted differently in private. It was hard not to feel as though every one of his actions needed a viable explanation, and Christ, an oral fixation? Whatever the genuine _fuck_ that was, it had no explanation, so Dan did his best to keep the pen-chewing habits at a minimum. Occasionally, whilst editing, he’d find himself subconsciously sucking or biting at the skin around his nails and he’d flush, hoping it’d gone unnoticed by Phil and forcing his hand into the pocket of his hoodie to stop himself. 

Things began to relax, though. 

They grew closer as friends, as flatmates, and Dan found his inhibitions lowering piece by piece, the jittery feeling in his chest subsiding as it was replaced by something softer. More often than not, he’d forget to watch himself and would end up sucking on a pen cap in the midst of scripting a video. The urge to curb the odd behavior didn’t seem as present _;_ Phil _liked_ him. They were friends, and if he’d put up with Dan this long, a stupid, insignificant habit wouldn’t change much. 

And then it got worse. Not worse, maybe, but Dan found himself craving more than just his own skin. (And besides that, it always ended up with him sucking blood out of his fingers because he'd bite too hard when his focus would slip.)

Lollipops seemed the most natural next step. A big bag of those little ones sold for barely a pound at the shops nearby, and they tasted better.

More than once, Dan caught Phil looking - staring, even - and while that would curb the habit of sucking on the treats for a few hours, Dan would inevitably return, sneaking lollipops when he was sure Phil wouldn't see. It felt weird to be hiding this from his flatmate - his best friend, for Christ's sake - but Dan needed to _focus_.

Only when Phil brought home a box of assorted-flavor popsicles did things get especially tricky. The lollipops had worked in the past, their longevity and almost chemically fruity taste making them an effective distraction. The popsicles, however, were better in a way Dan hadn’t expected: they were _bigger_. They didn’t last as long, of course, but there was something scarily satisfying about the way the cold treats filled his mouth, and Dan managed to convince himself that it wasn’t because of their phallic shape. They were just more fun to suck on than lollipops in a completely non-dirty, non-sexual context. Obviously. 

As it turned out, however, that explanation was a lot harder to give when he was caught practically _deepthroating_ a mango popsicle in the quiet privacy of his bedroom. 

He’d been casually scrolling through Twitter, controlling his mouse with one hand and holding the stick of his popsicle with the other. Honest to God, he hadn’t even noticed he’d been sucking it so obscenely until he was startled by the familiar clearing of Phil’s throat from across the room. Dan had turned towards the doorway with spit-slicked lips and a popsicle halfway down his throat before slowly, reluctantly, sliding it from his mouth, making eye contact with Phil as he did so. 

“Excuse me,” he said, pretending he wasn’t absolutely mortified by the juice dribbling down his chin. “Can I help you?”

“Not really, but when you’re done making a mess of yourself, I’ve got dinner waiting in the kitchen.”

And then Phil had laughed, and the nervous tension had immediately drained from Dan’s body because as long as he could make a joke of it, it was _fine_.

They’re sitting in the lounge, now. Dan’s got a video pulled up on his laptop that he’s been meaning to finish and upload for the past, what, six hours? Yet somehow, despite all the time he’s spent sitting on his ass today, he’s only four minutes into the fucking thing. It’s his own damn fault, too, for not adding an extra box of popsicles to their cart the last time they ordered groceries because they’re completely out (Dan checked this morning) and all he can do is sit and suffer silently. 

Well, not silently, because he’s a twenty-six-year-old man who still pouts like a fucking toddler. 

After three minutes of playing the same three-second clip on loop until his voice no longer sounds like a voice anymore, Dan lets out a loud, purposefully exaggerated sigh and rakes his hands through his hair. “ _Fuck_. I fucking hate this. It’s a shitty video anyways, I should just fucking _—_ “ and he slams his laptop lid shut like the drama queen that he is, folding his arms over his chest.

From the opposite end of the sofa, Phil glances up briefly from his laptop. “You okay? You seem, um. Stressed.”

Dan shoots him the most withering glare he can muster for no good reason at all. “Are you sure we’re out of popsicles? Because I can’t find any fucking pen caps and I’m pretty sure you threw my favorite one out, and I really don’t want to end up chewing through my nails again, and I didn’t think I needed lollipops because we had popsicles, and _—_ ” And Dan stops, breathes, and feels the tips of his ears turn pink at the realization he’s been ranting. Phil looks properly concerned now, too. Wonderful. 

“Is there something I can do?” Phil asks, very gently, because he’s Phil and of course he’d be this sweet after Dan’s practically yelled at him. “Can I help, at all? D’you want me to go out and get popsicles? I don’t know if Tesco is open right now, but I could check.”

Dan pauses, brow furrowing as he tries to piece some sort of solution together. It’s always been there, a tiny idea in the back of his mind that he’d never let manifest into a full-blown thought before. Whether it’s because Dan’s stressed enough to try anything or the fact that he’s been harboring an unshakeable crush on Phil ever since he saw that stupid fucking Toxic video, an idea clicks. 

“Actually, yes,” he says. “You can help me.”

Dan proceeds to place his laptop on the coffee table before gracelessly dropping to his knees between Phil’s legs, settling back on his heels as he glances up at Phil.

“You can let me blow you.”

There’s something satisfying about Phil’s reaction as he leans back into the couch cushions, fully startled by Dan’s request, just _staring_ at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. 

“I can let you blow me,” Phil repeats dumbly. “You _—_ seriously, Dan, are you _okay_?” His cheeks have a touch more pink in them than usual, and normally, Dan would be sidetracked about how that’s the cutest thing in the world, but he just wants a fucking cock in his mouth like, right now, please and thank you. 

“Pretty please?” Dan asks, saccharine and soft as he bats his eyelashes and slides his palms up Phil’s calves in what he prays to God is a somewhat enticing manner. He makes the executive decision not to tell Phil he’s never properly sucked anyone off before, only used his mouth to aid a few mediocre handjobs. “It’ll help me focus. Swear. Just easier to do when my mouth is occupied, and I figure it’s a win-win seeing as you’ve got all that pent-up sexual frustration.” 

At that, Phil seems to snap out of his stupor, halfheartedly scowling down at Dan. “I do not have pent-up sexual frustration, I just haven’t _—_ ”

“ _—_ Gotten laid in a bajillion years? Yeah, me neither, considering we never leave the _house_ , Phil.”

Phil seems to have made his decision, because he rubs his face tiredly, mumbling, “What am I even doing” under his breath before spreading his thighs almost imperceptibly wider and lifting his hands in mock defeat. 

“Alright,” he concedes. “If you’re sure it’ll help.” He’s trying to act nonchalant, but Dan isn’t fooled. He knows Phil like the back of his hand, knows that when Phil gets worked up his lips part ever so slightly, dark pupils taking over the blue of his irises and the tendons in his neck starting to strain with the effort of appearing calm.

“You’re allowed to act a little enthusiastic, y’know,” Dan adds, giving Phil’s knee a teasing poke. “Being all stony-faced and cool during a blowjob isn’t going to do wonders for my self-esteem.”

Phil doesn’t respond and Dan reaches out to press his palm against the front of Phil’s sweatpants, mouth curling up mischievously as he feels the heat of Phil’s softened cock through the fabric. “Gone commando, have you?” And Dan would tease more, but as he works his hand along its length, feels it start to swell up and twitch against his loosely curled fingers, left a bit in awe at just how big Phil is. “Jesus, Phil, you should’ve told me you were packing.”

Phil reaches up to cover his face, clearly flustered even as his shoulders shake with laughter. “Unfortunately for you, I’m not one of those awful straight boys that spend their every waking moment bragging about their supposed eight inches.”

“Is it?” Dan asks, satisfied to see Phil bite down on his lip when Dan thumbs over the tip of his cock, using the friction of cotton to his advantage. “Eight inches, I mean. Is it?” Dan strokes Phil’s length in full, this time, and Phil bites back a groan. 

“Guess you’ll have to find out.”

Cheeky bastard. Dan rolls his eyes, but he’s all too eager to hook his thumbs around the elastic of Phil’s joggers and pull them down, down, until Phil’s length is freed and curving prettily up towards his stomach. The breath Dan didn’t know he’d been holding catches sharply in his throat and he looks at it almost reverently before Phil clears his throat and reminds him he's meant to suck it, not just stare at it. He gets a hand around its girth and the skin-on-skin contact has the muscles in Phil’s thighs jumping, Adam's apple bobbing as he undoubtedly tries to swallow down a moan. Phil’s cock is satisfyingly heavy against his palm and he strokes once, twice, before darting his tongue out to kitten-lick the head of it. 

This time, a sound does surface itself from Phil’s throat, a deep gravelly noise that sends Dan’s stomach in knots, and Dan finds he can’t bear to drag this out any longer. He settles his hands on Phil’s thighs, fingers digging into the soft skin there as he leans forward, lips closing around the pink, flared head and sliding down, down, down, tongue flattening along the underside of Phil’s cock in the same way he’d done with the popsicles. 

The length is thick and hard and heavy against his tongue, nothing like he’s experienced before and still infinitely better. There’s a saltiness to it, and Dan laves his tongue over all those pretty veins he’d admired just moments before. 

Phil scrabbles for purchase against the couch cushions, curses, and that’s all Dan needs to know he’s doing something right. Rarely does he get the privilege of hearing Phil swear. Based on the way his own length is steadily hardening against the confines of his boxers, he decides he would very much like to again.

Only half of Phil’s cock has made its way into Dan’s mouth, so far. Dan uses one hand to stroke what he hasn’t been able to fit, but Phil wants _more_. That much is obvious. Phil’s too polite to just yank Dan’s hair or allow his hips a little freedom to thrust up in Dan’s mouth so he’s just squeezing his hands into fists, breathing hard and shallow between soft groans and trying his best to quell the small, needy twitches of his lovely hips. 

And well, if he’s not going to just _take_ more, Dan’s got to _give_ more, hasn’t he. Half-lidded eyes flicking up to Phil, Dan eases himself forward, working his throat open with a quiet whimper that doesn’t go unnoticed by Phil. 

“ _Fuck_ , Dan,” Phil grits out, sucking in a quick, uneven breath. “Oh God, I _—_ you feel really, really good, didn’t know you could _—_ didn’t know you could suck cock this well.” They both that in common, at least. 

Eager to please, Dan forces himself forward a little further, gags, and feels his cock throb needily as Phil trails off into a desperate sort of moan. Phil’s a mess, and Dan can’t get enough of it. He flutters his lashes, knowing full-well how good he looks from this angle, all hollowed-out cheekbones and drool running over his swollen lips, down his chin.

When the head of Phil’s cock finally bumps the back of Dan’s throat, Dan _whines_ , loud and long, his hips automatically attempting to rut down into something, anything. There’s only air, though, and his cock is left leaking a bit pathetically into his cotton boxers. Everything in him aches to slip a hand between his thighs and stroke himself, just to take the pressure off. He resists.

He doesn’t want to take the attention off Phil’s cock. He wants to savor this, because if Phil never lets him do this again, at least he’ll remember the taste, the pressure, the way he traced every curve and felt Phil’s pulse against his tongue. It’s a fact he’s far too embarrassed to admit, but he’s sure Phil can tell from his muffled, high-pitched whimpers _—_ he _loves_ sucking Phil’s cock. Wants to do it again, tonight, if Phil will let him. 

“Getting close,” comes Phil’s strained, wrecked voice from above Dan, and finally, Dan feels Phil’s long and slender fingers thread through his curls. Dan makes an appreciative noise around Phil’s cock to voice his approval. 

Knowing Phil’s going to cum soon only makes Dan re-double his efforts. If Phil’s cock _feels_ this good in his mouth, Dan absolutely needs to know what it tastes like. He bobs his head, lets his flattened tongue lap at the curves of Phil’s cock, salivating enough that the slide of his lips sounds obscenely slick, like audio straight out of a porno.

The grip in his hair tightens, almost imperceptibly _—_ Phil’s losing control. It truly is a sight to see someone normally so composed, so calm and collected fall apart underneath Dan’s sinful mouth. Dan can’t seem to tear his gaze away, even as his eyes begin to water from the effort of gagging himself on Phil’s cock. Phil’s head is thrown back, exposing the pretty, pale column of his throat, mouth forming around the shape of Dan’s name. 

He’s fucking gorgeous. 

He’s even more gorgeous when he cums just a few moments later, gasping for air, hips stuttering upwards into the tantalizing, wet heat of Dan’s mouth like he just can’t help himself. Cum splashes out into Dan’s mouth. It hits his tongue, bitter and salty, and it doesn’t take Dan long to decide that he likes it. Then again, it’s Phil _—_ of course Dan likes it.

He swallows around Phil’s twitching, softening cock and blinks up at him with hooded eyes, waiting til he’s absolutely _sure_ Phil’s finished before sliding off with a satisfying ‘pop’. 

“Jesus,” Phil says, collapsing back against the sofa. “You’re _—_ that was _—_ ”

“The best orgasm of your life?” Dan supplies. He wipes his mouth against the back of his hand and oh, yeah. He’s still very much hard and _very_ much in need of relief. Clumsily, he pushes himself up to his feet, finding it almost difficult to stand when his head was still spinning from how _good_ this had been. “‘M just gonna….” He trails off with an almost sheepish gesture to his obvious hard-on, then turns, fully planning on taking care of himself behind a locked bedroom door. Phil had only agreed to a blowjob, not reciprocation, and Dan was perfectly content with -- 

“Hey, no, wait, that’s really not fair,” Phil interjects, and Dan stops in his tracks, shooting Phil a rather surprised glance. “You just gave me an incredible blowjob, I’m not about to make you take the walk of shame in your own flat. Don’t be silly.” And Phil’s voice softens a touch when he says, “Lemme take care of you. C’mere.”

Dan really is helpless to resist and he stumbles back towards the couch, cock aching as he scrambles up on Phil’s lap. He feels far too lanky and uncoordinated to be doing so, but Phil doesn’t seem to mind. He simply pushes a hand down into the waistband of Dan’s pajama pants, long fingers curling firmly around Dan’s cock, and Dan lets out a high-pitched keen into the crook of Phil’s neck. To finally have a warm hand on him, touching him, is ecstasy  _—_ he hadn’t touched that whole time, had just let his poor, neglected cock throb and leak. Now that Phil’s stroking him at such a fast pace, his fist deliciously tight, Dan knows he’s barely going to last a minute.

He cums with a muffled cry into Phil’s shirt, his release spilling messily over Phil’s closed fist as his whole body shudders, trembles. It’s the most powerful orgasm he’s had in a long time and he can feel the resulting satisfaction seep into his bones. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles, and it’s a little ridiculous because ‘thanks’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.

“I should be thanking you, honestly.” And Phil’s terribly wrong, but Dan’s not in the mood to argue so he simply slides off Phil’s lap and kisses him on the cheek. 

“Gonna go film a video. Decided to scrap the other one and I think I can come up with another much better one, now that I’m focused, y’know?” 

Dan tugs his pants back up, smooths out his shirt, and heads back to the office. As he pads down the hallway, he mills through a list of possible video titles in his head. 

Maybe, if he wants to be pretentious, he’ll go with something along the lines of “Living My Truth” or something equally asinine that he and Phil can laugh about later.

He’ll have to decide once he films it.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> cockwhoredan on tumblr. show me some love, send me an ask, talk to me about how dan is a nasty yiffer. thx.


End file.
